


Through the Night

by persephone_il (the_ragnarok)



Category: The Authority
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2004, recipient:penknife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/persephone_il





	Through the Night

"No. Don't move."

Apollo hesitated. "I'm just going to bring you a glass of water," he said softly.

Midnighter shuddered. "Don't." His voice was hoarse and dark, but what scared Apollo was how weak that voice was. "I can't--"

Apollo stayed perfectly still, waiting.

"I won't remember it's you." Still soft, and so sad.

"I can bring someone else in here. Jenny's been asking to see you--"

"No!" This was almost a yell. A tiny spark of hope lit in Apollo.

"You can't hurt her." He knew that Midnighter despised being spoken to gently. An angry Midnighter was better than a desperate one.

"I don't want her to see me trying!"

Apollo very slowly raised a hand. He held it where Midnighter could see it. Midnighter twitched and snarled, but finally got enough control over himself to nod. Apollo lowered his hand to touch Midnighter's. He could feel the pulse there, fast enough that a normal human would already have reached cardiac arrest.

Angie had showed him graphs and diagrams that explained all the things Bendix had done to them. Not just the obvious stuff, like his eyes and flight and Midnighter's parallel-processing mind. The structure of their muscles and bones, their hormonal balance, even their digestive systems.

He found himself wishing he didn't know this much. Like Angie told him once, being an engineer just made you all the more aware of all the things that could go wrong.

Even Angie didn't know what this was, though. Not yet. She had several of her selves working on it. He couldn't begrudge her for trying to save the world and Apollo's husband simultaneously.

He really tried to believe that.

Midnighter's jaw clenched, and his back arched over the bed. He bucked wildly against the restraints. He turned his eyes onto Apollo, and Apollo flinched.

He wished he hadn't a moment later, when Midnighter's hands moved all too fast and the chains that restrained him to the bed were wrapped around Apollo's throat.

"It's been two hours since sundown," Midnighter said. "You've been sitting with me for three hours and fifty-two minutes, not counting the time until I was brought here. You've been inside the Carrier since yesterday evening."

His hands clenched the chains tighter around Apollo's throat.

"You should start being vulnerable right... about..."

For a moment, a flicker of sanity returned to Midnighter's eyes. Then there was horror in them, and the chain loosened considerably.

"...Now."

Apollo's hands rose instinctively to the chain. He cursed Midnighter's knowledge of him as he realized he should never had stepped so close. Damn me for a sentimental fool, he thought. He'd seen Midnighter win under worse circumstances.

He didn't really need to breathe. He told himself this quite firmly as his lungs heaved for air. He only needed to breathe when his solar energy ran completely...

...Out. Shit.

He tried to think. He failed miserably at it. Wouldn't it be strangely fitting that Midnighter and he had survived monsters of both the human and alien kind, enemies from without and within, natural disasters - everything that the universe could throw at them, really - only to end up killing each other.

Knowing Midnighter, it was really kind of surprising it hadn't happened earlier.

Then the chain gave way, and he was on his feet and gasping for breath. Midnighter's hands were clutching the sheet.

"Get out," Midnighter said. Apollo stood still. "Get out! I can't-- It'll be back soon. I can't control it for long. For God's sake, get the hell _out_!"

Apollo closed his eyes for a second, then walked to the door. He got out and leaned against it.

"Can I see him?"

He closed his eyes again.

A small hand tugged on his sleeve. They'd been house-hunting again today, all of them wearing normal clothes. He opened his eyes and lifted Jenny, holding her close.

"I want to see him. Why can't I see him?"

"He's not feeling like himself, Jenny. He wouldn't want you to see him like this."

He put her down again. There was a small, concerned frown on her face. "Is he sick?"

"Not exactly."

Jenny looked exasperated. "Then _what_?"

"Sweetie..." He paused for a second, wondering just how much to tell Jenny. Perhaps he should just have told her Midnighter was sick. They never shielded her from their work, not exactly; it wasn't as if she didn't know they sometimes killed people. Jenny had the firm sense of Right and Wrong that children her age often had. Her daddies killed Bad People, and that was it.

But he thought about telling her about the old days, before the Authority, and cringed. The way they were those days... It had been necessary, of course, but its necessity didn't make it any less brutal.

He knelt beside Jenny and patted her head. "You'll understand when you grow up," he said finally, and hoped he was lying.

Jenny narrowed her eyes and stomped away. He waited until she disappeared down the hall to say, "Door." A portal opened. The sunlight poured out of it, searing the shadows of the corridor. He might be a fool, but he'll be damned if he let Midnighter catch him again with that old trick.

***

He didn't know there was so much stainless steel in the world. The entire complex seems to be made of it, alternating between shadows and too-bright lights and always cold.

Funny how that still registers, although he doesn't really feel the cold anymore. There's golden light surrounding him wherever he goes now, and whenever it diminishes in the slightest he's to go to the ultraviolet chamber to recharge. He sat in the Weatherman's office while the surgeon talked about the Care and Feeding of Superheros, and he remembers most of it.

The Weatherman told him that soon there will be more of them. That Apollo was just a prototype, if an unbelievably successful one. For his firstborn status, the Weatherman says, Apollo will become their leader. That's not sentimentality; Because Apollo was first, there is time to give him the extra training the others won't have.

When the Weatherman comes to his chamber and tells him, "There is a situation that needs your interference," he barely stops himself from saluting. The careful distance between him and Bendix doesn't come from rank.

He is led to a closed door, enormous and locked so that even Apollo would have to sweat to break it. Bendix says, "--and of course we made him invulnerable to anesthetics, which has turned out to be unexpectedly inconvenient..."

His voice trails as the door is opened, and a black shape hurls itself at them.

Apollo barely blinks before someone punches him in the face, then in the stomach, so fast that the blows don't seem to connect. He feels them, though; feels them more keenly than anything since he came to this place. Instinctively he grasps the shape, turning his back to the Weatherman and shouting "Run!"

The shape takes advantage of this to knee Apollo in the groin, and he doubles over, but he doesn't let go. He reaches up to grip the assailant's hair, but comes up with a fistful of leather. He pulls, and comes face to face with the most terrified eyes he had ever seen.

"Help me," the man says, even as his hands are doing their best to rearrange Apollo's internal organs. Apollo stands and takes it; it hurts, but he knows it won't damage him. He is beyond such things now, and he can spare the time to listen.

Now that the initial glow of panicked reaction has faded, he can see more. This is just a man, and if he moves too fast, and _wrong_ , it has to be the result of his enhancements. Maybe this attempt has gone wrong, as well, and they realized it too late.

He reaches to rip the man's throat out in the kindest possible way. He knows what happened to the failed experiments, and he doesn't wish that on anyone.

His hand is caught and twisted before it reaches its target. It would have been broken if Apollo hadn't been fresh from the UV chamber. The man hisses. "Why, damn it?" he says between blows. "What the hell did I do to you?"

"You're trying to kill me!" Apollo blocks a punch to the solar plexus. His arm shudders for a moment, like a string plucked just at the right place.

The man's eyes narrow, and he launches a kick meant to break Apollo's knee. "Can you blame me?"

"Yes!"

"Fuck you!" The next kick does hit his solar plexus, and Apollo concentrates on breathing for a few seconds.

"Stop!" It's hard to shout when it feels like your lungs have just collapsed, but Apollo tries anyway. "We can settle this," he says, dodging a punch to the jaw. "Just calm down--"

"You should have said that before you tried to rip my throat out!" The man doesn't even sound out of breath as he kicks Apollo in the stomach. Apollo tries to feel impressed. Mostly, he feels bruised.

"Just-- stop!" In one tremendous effort, he throws the man on the floor. He welds the man's belt-buckle to the floor with his heat-gaze. He didn't think he'd ever be grateful for all this steel.

The man freezes for a moment, then seizes up and breaks Apollo's neck. At least, he would have if Apollo hadn't crouched over him and twisted his arms so he wouldn't be able to get up without breaking them.

"That's enough," Apollo says, trying to sound as nice as possible. He doubts this man was looking forward to his future as a failed experiment, and there's no reason to add to that. He grabs the man's head and prepares to twist--

"Very good, Apollo. You may leave now."

He looks up, but he can't see the Weatherman. Must be talking through one of the speakers scattered here. He rises slowly, uncertainly. He has the man restrained now, but it won't last for long, maybe not even long enough to allow Apollo to leave the room.

The man is absolutely still. In the short amount of time it takes to walk to the nearest door, Apollo doesn't see him move once.

***

He nearly walked into Angie on his way back from his moment in the sun. The look on her face didn't bide well.

"I know what's wrong," she said without preamble. "I just don't know what to do about it."

"You already told me you know what's wrong with him." He hadn't meant to sound accusing. Angie is a friend, and she's doing her best.

"In principle, yes. The specifics were... problematic." She sighed. "You remember what I told you about Midnighter's endocrine balance?"

He nodded warily. He couldn't name all the different molecules Angie lectured him about, but he remembered the general idea.

"Well, it's shot to hell."

"Nice to know. Is that scientific jargon for 'I can fix it soon'?"

She gave him a tired look. He shrugged apologetically. He really didn't mean to be nasty. It seemed to be happening all on its own.

At last she relented. "It's not scientific jargon for anything, but I'm pretty sure the balance will restore itself in twelve hours or so. Meanwhile, we'll just have to wait."

"Just... Explain to me. What exactly do hormones have to do with temporary insanity?"

"You're kidding, right?"

He held back his impatience. "Pretend I'm an idiot."

She rolled her eyes. "Watch me pretending. The thing is, Midnighter is a bit... tense usually, isn't he?"

"He's a paranoid bastard." And I love him for it; he didn't need to say it. Angie nodded and continued.

"He has abnormally high levels of adrenaline, normaly, as well as a number of other hormones/neurotransmitters-- stop me if I'm getting too vague."

"You're getting too vague."

"Thank you. What I mean is, he was created with fucked-up hormonal levels. Now, I have no idea how he managed to be functional at all with all the changes they dumped on his systems, let alone work for as long as he did. I'll chalk it up to endurance, luck and good influences." She smiled at Apollo with that last statement, and he acknowledged it with a nod.

"And the punchline is?"

"Punchline. Right. Basically, his systems just had all they could take, and now they're out of whack. That's as best as I can put it in layman terms. But, like I said, it's temporary. It's also likely to happen again, but we'll take care of that when we have time."

"Can't you just-- Fix him?"

She snorted. "Sure, if you want to fuck his hormonal balance further. We can always increase dopamine levels. Think 'stoner' is a good look for Midnighter?"

"Stay away from my husband, you techno-witch." He meant it to sound funny, not threatening. He was lucky Angie knew him as well as she did.

Still, as he walked back to the room he felt oddly hopeful. This will be over by tomorrow, and they will be able to laugh about it.

All he had to do now is get through today.

***

It takes him two minutes to get into his uniform. Considering the difficulty of getting into tights when you're still wet from the shower, it's not bad. He risks a glance at his new team mate. The relative ease of getting into the looser leather garments is countered by the fact that Midnighter has so _many_ things to put on.

Apollo knows Midnighter notices these looks. As far as he can tell, Midnighter notices _everything_. What worries Apollo is that Midnighter says nothing, does nothing. He's never anything less than polite to Apollo, and this is worrying. He can't put the fiend that attacked him and this polite stranger in the same thought, let alone the same body.

Apollo could fret about this, or he could do something. Because Apollo is nothing if not a man of action, the choice is obvious enough. And so, once they're on their way back from the training session, he says, "You can fight better than that."

They've been sparring against each other because, frankly, who else can they fight? The Weatherman says everyone needs to be at the top of their abilities. There will be more like them soon, and Apollo wants to be prepared for them. They will see him as their leader from the start, not like this man who nearly defeated him before they even knew each other's names.

Midnighter shrugs. For some reason, this really annoys Apollo. He shoves Midnighter, halfway between a friendly nudge and a statement of intent. "I need to see what you're made of," he says. "I need someone who's really a challenge. If you're holding back from me, I might as well punch a bag."

He spent the next second wondering how he got to the floor so fast.

"I'm made of flesh, like you," Midnighter says. "Maybe with a few enhancements. Ask the Surgeon, I don't know. And that's not me holding back."

Apollo rises back to his feet. He's standing close to Midnighter, too close; this is an intimidation tactic, but Midnighter doesn't back off.

No wonder. He just threw your ass on the floor. Apollo ignores that thought and says, "So how come you just did better than you did since we started training?"

A slight smile flickers across Midnighter's face. "Practice makes perfect, remember?" His face chills again, going back into the stony facade Apollo has become accustomed to. "What I can do isn't entirely voluntary." He says it without hesitation, but his inflection is too smooth. He says the words as though they are rote, meaningless syllables that he repeats mechanically. "I can't trust it yet. Neither should you."

"Isn't that the point of training?" He slaps Midnighter across the back. This time he's trying for gentle. "You need to know your limits. That's what I'm here for."

He doesn't want to admit how uncomfortable the look Midnighter gives him makes him. "Limits," Midnighter says. "Sure you want to go there?"

Midnighter brushes past Apollo on his way back to their dormitory, leaving behind confusion and the scent of sweat.

***

The hallway next to the room Midnighter is lying in was empty, and too quiet for Apollo's liking. He opened the door but didn't come in.

"You don't make a good door, you know."

He took it as permission and snagged the single chair in the room, sitting at a safe distance.

"How are you?" he asked, for lack of a better thing to say.

There was shuffling in the darkness. "Shitty. But I think it's taking a rest now. Whatever the hell it is."

"Apparently, your body's gone mad."

"Should've known. It likes you, doesn't it?"

"A mark of insanity if I ever saw one, " Apollo agreed. "But it should be over in twelve hours."

"Great. Just try to keep me from killing anyone important until then."

Apollo smiled slightly. "I managed that so far, haven't I? Have some faith."

***

A harsh "thud" sounds as Midnighter's body hits the floor.

"Again." He doesn't even sound out of breath.

It comes and goes fast, too fast for Apollo to see clearly. All he sees is the moment of impact. He isn't sure which of the watching technicians devised this hell-contraption; they all seem equally engrossed. Apollo's jaw hurts from grinding. He's not particularly fond of watching people try to tear themselves apart, especially when they're members of his team.

"Again."

This time, Apollo's certain, he manages to last a few seconds before collapsing. But collapse he does, and Apollo can hear a 'crack' that might mean a broken bone. Midnighter is standing again, but that's not an indication of anything. According to the Surgeon, they can walk up to ten hours on two broken legs. Human endurance is a wonderful thing, and inhuman endurance... Well.

It's two more falls before Apollo decides to take action. "Stop the simulation," he says to the closest technician, who looks hesitant..

"But sir, the Weatherman--"

"The Weatherman isn't here. This is my man in there, and I am pulling him out. Understood?"

The technician pushes the appropriate buttons, and the whirring sound that filled the room for the last two hours fades. Midnighter sways a bit, but he walks out of the chamber without leaning on the walls. Apollo follows him in silence until they are back at their dormitory.

Without turning, Midnighter says, "You are going to tell me that I'm being stupid and self-destructive. You won't listen to anything I have to say until you cool down, _in spite_ of the fact that I can think just fine for myself." Was that a twitch of a muscle? "Better than you can, actually."

"You won this argument before it even started, huh?"

Midnighter turns around. It's quite possible that the expression on his face is a smile. His voice gives no hint of it. "Before you even started thinking about it."

"That line works better for armed combat, you know." He sits on his bed -- nearly falls into it, to be honest. Just watching Midnighter makes him tired. But Midnighter is still standing. "Sitting doesn't cost extra, you know."

"Hmm?" Unlike his smiles, Midnighter's frowns are easily noticeable.

"Just something my--" Apollo pauses. When he continues, his voice is softer. "I was going to say my mother used to say. I can't say for sure, though."

He wishes Midnighter would look a little less like a huge chunk of granite.

"And now I'm not angry," he says, after a while. "So. Care to explain?"

"I need to get better control."

Apollo studies him, and sees not a hint of irony. "Because sometimes, just being stronger and faster than everyone out there isn't enough," he says.

Flint, not granite; the look Midnighter gives him is sharp enough to cut flesh. "You should know."

That stings, it really does. "I wasn't expecting an attack," Apollo says stiffly.

"You should have been. You know what's the most dangerous thing in existence?"

Apollo makes a "go on" motion.

"Life. One hundred percent casualties."

"Oh, come on--"

" _You_ come on." This is the first time since their first fight that he can hear emotion in Midnighter's voice. It's barely audible, a tiny tremble, but Apollo knows about this; a cracking voice means a cracking armor. "What do you want to bet we'll be both dead within the next two years? I know those statistics. I _am_ those statistics. They're hard-wired into my brain. I can see a thousand deaths in an empty room. I can--"

Apollo tries to grab Midnighter's shoulder. He's not sure how he ended up with his arm twisted behind his back.

"--see your every move before you think about it, whether or not you actually think about it. Since we walked into this room--"

Apollo is pressed against the wall. It feels softer than Midnighter, and more merciful.

"--I knew what was going to happen. I knew what I'm going to do to you."

He's supposed to start fighting, to say something, but he feels Midnighter hard against his back, and it pours on him like a bucket of cold water that maybe he doesn't _want_ to move. That strange, desperate sound must be coming from him--

And his arm is free, and he's leaning against of the wall, afraid of falling.

"And you asked me why I need control." Midnighter's voice is soft again, and he's opening the door.

With effort, he pushes himself away from the wall, grabbing Midnighter's shoulder. Again. But this time, Midnighter just stands there, inscrutable in all this black leather. It suddenly looks ridiculous to Apollo that he's walking around in uniform that couldn't show more of him if he were naked, but Midnighter is all folds and shadows.

"Wait. Come here."

Midnighter isn't pulled by his hand. He's following it, perhaps. He's standing close to Apollo.

"You stopped," Apollo says. "That's control."

"That's the lack of a death wish. I'm not suicidal."

"Can't say I noticed that." Strange, the fact that Midnighter is almost exactly the same height as he is. Maybe they sorted Stormwatch candidates by height. Yah.

They're close now, too close now for this to turn into anything that isn't violence or sex. Or maybe both, Apollo thinks distantly, touching his mouth to Midnighter's. A struggle for control, for survival.

It's difficult to kiss while smiling, but he can't stop himself from doing it. Because, really, where else can he find a rival who could match him?

Midnighter's hands are gripping him hard, fingers sinking into his skin. It takes strength to do that, superhuman strength, and it convinces Apollo to turn some of that strength back on Midnighter. They're kissing too fast, too hungry, teeth clacking against each other. His right hand is pulling Midnighter's hair out, his left is clutching Midnighter's thigh so they can touch more of each other.

Midnighter moves in a cruel, deliberate way, a painful pleasure that Apollo never wants to stop feeling. He bites Apollo's lips and licks them afterwards. Not in apology; in ownership, rather, and Apollo thinks he can beat that and bites deep into Midnighter's shoulder.

Then there is pushing against each other and the wall, and Midnighter sounds like he's choking, or maybe snarling. Apollo tears his arms away from Midnighter, bracing them against the wall, banging his head repeatedly and completely unable to care. Midnighter just grabs his shoulders, moving against Apollo as though he means to tear him in half, then clings like he want to burrow inside Apollo and never come out.

Eventually, Apollo manages to notice the scratches and bites and the holes in the wall where his fingers bore through. Midnighter is sitting down - _finally_ \- and staring at his hands.

Apollo sits beside him.

Eventually, Midnighter turns his head to Apollo. With an excruciating slowness, Midnighter peels the gauntlet off his left hand. His right hand is next. Then, he takes off the mask.

And he says, "Well?"

Well, nothing, Apollo thinks. He rests his right palm over Midnighter's left, and lays his head on Midnighter's shoulder. He tries very, very hard not to be afraid, and mostly succeeds.

They don't talk.

***

He was almost able to find a pattern in Midnighter's breathing. Hard and labored, with calm periods so short they nearly broke Apollo's heart. He didn't want to give in to wishful thinking, but eventually it became obvious that the calm periods were longer and closer between. Eventually, he felt it was safe to bring his chair within arm's reach of Midnighter's bed.

His eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness. He can see Midnighter's face, oddly vulnerable while asleep. It's not often that he sees Midnighter without his mask. There is something strange about being able to tell how agitated Midnighter is simply by looking at him, rather than deciphering his tone of voice and word-usage.

Right then, Midnighter looked... Well. His face showed he was tired -- exhausted, really -- but weren't tightened in effort. Midnighter wasn't fighting anything right now, least of all himself. It seemed as though years had passed since Apollo had last seen him like this, rather than hours. There were lines on his face, and Apollo was almost surprised to know he recognized most of them.

Even superheros grow old, apparently. Apollo could testify to that. He felt as though he aged a thousand years during the last night.

Midnighter's eyes opened slowly, blinking as though trying to get used to the light that wasn't there. "You're still here," he rasped.

Apollo felt brave enough to stroke Midnighter's hair gently. "Where else would I be?"

"Saving the world. Taking care of Jenny. Making sure that the Doctor doesn't poison me in my sleep."

"One out of three isn't bad."

Midnighter quirked an eyebrow, barely. It could have meant that he's feeling weak, or that he just didn't want to bother with facial expressions around Apollo, who would know what he meant without a word or a twitch.

Apollo straightened the blanket around Midnighter's shoulders. He knew it wouldn't matter much, but it made them both feel better. "How do you feel?" he asked after a while.

Midnighter's laughter was short and soft, but it warmed Apollo's heart nonetheless. "Like crap."

"Serves you right for scaring everyone like that."

"Yeah? Next time, we'll switch. You'll try to control all the paranoid impulses Henry Bendix could plant in a person, and I'll be sitting in a chair and worrying."

Apollo considered this. He thought about all the times when Midnighter's moods seemed to swing between homicidal rage and a withering chill. Remembered trying to tell them apart by the smallest movements of Midnighter's muscles, by the sound of the words he didn't say.

He remembered Midnighter, poised to strike, bent on destruction and -- Stopping.

Apollo planted a soft kiss on Midnighter's forehead. "Deal."

  



End file.
